Attention crew of the Enterprise . . . .
Christine went from dreaming of one man to listening to the voice of another on the ship's intercom. She recognized James Kirk's name. Several friends had attended his inquiry.
I'm ordering a pursuit course of the enemy ship to Earth. I want all departments at battle stations and ready in ten minutes. Either we're going down . . . or they are. Kirk out.
She stopped trying to puzzle out how a suspended cadet became acting captain. Whatever the reason, she supported his decision. Their families, their homes, everything would be lost if Earth shared Vulcan's fate. They had to stop the Romulans.
Christine clambered out of bed. It took only a minute to grab a uniform—a white tunic and pants for higher visibility—and hunt for her lucky socks. Pale green, each with white rabbits hopping among pink and yellow tulips, the socks were old and thin, with patches of embroidery floss on the toes where her Gran had mended the holes.
With no time to waste, she dressed and ran a brush through her hair, leaving it loose. Makeup was reduced to the basics: a dusting of powder and a swipe of lip-gloss. She ran to catch the lift before the turbo doors closed.
Inside the crowded lift, Christine nodded politely to a young woman who stared at her with round brown eyes. She recognized the ensign as one of the group who saw her with Bones. The hope that their meeting would go unmentioned was dashed as the ensign cleared her throat.
"Ahem, excuse me, Lieutenant." When Christine glanced her way, the ensign said, "My friends and I, we were wondering . . . was the man you were with earlier the new CMO?"
It might have been imagination, but it seemed as though every woman in the lift waited breathlessly for the answer.
"Yes," Christine said. "Dr. McCoy escorted me to my quarters." That he stayed was nobody else's business.
The collective exhale was audible.
Christine's lips twitched. On the brink of battle, with their planet in danger, interest in gossip remained steadfast. The quirk of human nature was oddly comforting.
"He's very handsome," the ensign said. "One of my friends wants to know if he's, uh, available."
"No." Christine kept her gaze focused on the doors and pretended not to hear the ensign's sigh of disappointment or the whispers that arose.
Isn't she a nurse?
They always get doctors.
I heard it's because they do it with intensive care.
Christine had a crazy urge to turn around and say nurses make it better, nurses call the shots, nurses do it with patience, nurses do it twenty-four/seven, nurses do it with universal precautions, and nurses do it standing up. She could rattle off a list and had, once, in a bar after passing the nurse practitioner exam. The memory of trying to balance on a wobbly table, cheered by a boisterous crowd, kept her from repeating the performance.
She walked out of the lift with her head held high. Inwardly, she cringed over providing the ship grapevine with a juicy rumor. In the light of an uncertain future, gossip wouldn't cease. It would spread all the quicker. She'd have to tell Bones what happened before he heard an exaggerated story. If she didn't, it was all too easy to imagine being called into the CMO office. Bones would sit on the edge of his desk, quirking an eyebrow.
"What's this I hear about you slapping an ensign and telling her 'keep your hands off my man, bitch'?"
She hadn't slapped the girl or said any such thing, but people would believe it as truth. In all honesty, Christine couldn't deny that for an instant, her emotions were volatile enough to prompt such actions. Either impending danger had unhinged her brain, or something else . . . something she hadn't dealt with before.
Christine had been the studious child, the teenager who never openly rebelled against her parents, the friend who gave sound advice, the nurse who didn't panic in a crisis. Her relationships all followed the same, gradual progression from friends or colleagues to romantic partnership. Even with her fiancé, she'd admired Roger's brilliance and his dedication to his work before she'd noticed his looks or his smile. She'd never felt the immediate, dual pull of mental and physical attraction.
Until she met "Bones" McCoy.
.
In sickbay, the patient that called out her name provided a welcome distraction from heated thoughts. "You're looking well, Mr. Roberts," Christine said. She glanced at his readings. His blood pressure was slightly elevated. "You'd rather man your station than a biobed, I'm sure," she said. "What would you be doing?"
His explanation was long and technological. Christine listened with interest, forming a hazy image of an Engineering room that resembled a brewery. She was pleased that talking relaxed her patient and lowered his blood pressure.
When he was finished, she said, "Dr. McCoy told me I might have a namesake one day."
"If it's a girl," Roberts said impishly.
Since he was clearly waiting, she asked, "What if it's a boy?"
"We'll call him Roger."
Although half expecting it, the name was still jarring to hear. Her first impulse was to reply, "Don't." Roger Korby had never wanted children. He was content to be hailed as the Louis Pasteur of archaeological medicine and wouldn't appreciate the gesture. "That's nice," she managed to say.
"I was kidding," Roberts said. "About the mix up? My fiancée loves the name Christopher. Really. She had a bear named Pooh growing up, and read the books."
"Winnie-the-Pooh," Christine said. With a little effort, she smiled. "His friend is Christopher Robin, not Christopher Really."
Roberts grinned.
She rechecked his vital signs and then made her way over to the nurses' station where nurses Davis and Johnson stood talking with Ensign Ruiz and Petty officers Williams and Kowalski. The triage team was readying to work together again.
Johnson elbowed Davis. "I told you we should have replicated that bed pan."
Davis gazed down at her petite colleague and shook her head. "No, you said, 'damn, we can't make Chapel scrub a bed pan if she returns on captain's orders'." She looked to Ruiz for confirmation. "Didn't she?"
"Don't drag me into it," he said. "I know better than to step in the middle of a fight between women."
"Because of your sisters?" Christine asked.
Williams snorted. "They were sisters, all right . . . but not his sisters."
"Identical twins," Ruiz said. "Who knew? I thought was dancing twice with the same girl."
Johnson rolled her eyes. "Men."
Williams and Kowalski protested and Ruiz claimed to be an innocent victim. Christine studied their faces and thought a more accurate description would have been "boys." They—and most of the male crew—were so young. Even the new captain's voice rang with boyish bravado instead of the maturity of Pike, Spock, or McCoy.
Bones McCoy.
She knew his given name was Leonard, but the thought of calling him that was too strange, too formal. Leonard was a name suited to a plantation owner, or a doctor who saw more patients on the golf course than in an examination room. Bones was rugged. Manly. It conjured images of the old west "sawbones" who used ingenuity and skill to save lives.
The name also brought to mind her dream, in which a song learned from her Gran in childhood became adult foreplay. Christine's lips had just connected the knee bone to the thighbone when reality had intruded.
"Here's the fun you missed out on," Johnson said, handing over a PADD.
Christine yanked her thoughts out of the bedroom and concentrated on the work at hand. In her absence, the staff had treated an impressive number of green-coded minor injury patients, biobed occupancy lowered to fifty percent and the primary sickbay and medical aid stations were restocked with equipment and supplies. She said, "Dr. Puri was right, this crew is the best of Starfleet."
"That's what I told mi mama," Ruiz said somberly. "I hope it's true."
"It is. Captain Kirk beat the Kobayashi Maru test, and he'll find a way to beat the Romulans." Christine spoke with conviction. She couldn't afford doubts.
Ruiz said, "Commander Spock said Kirk cheated."
Christine was tired of negativity. "All the better. I'd rather cheat death than die."
"Me too!" Davis cried, loud enough for heads to turn.
A few minutes later, Bones strode in. He didn't have to call for attention. Conversations halted. "As I speak," he said, "the captain and first officer are risking their lives to save ours." His piercing gaze traveled over each member of staff. "Wish them luck, say a prayer, we'll hope for the best. To prepare for the worst, Dr. Howard and Dr. Eliot, along with Nurses Tompkins, Barton, and Saad will set up a triage center in shuttlebay for possible evacuees. Everyone else—" His eyes rested on Christine for a breathtaking moment. "Will maintain readiness."
While the shuttlebay group asked questions, Christine turned to Johnson. "Want to make the rounds?"
"Continuity of care is our sacred trust."
"I thought that was patient confidentiality."
"Not to the powers-that-be trembling in fear of litigation."
The sandy-haired nurse's humor was amusingly dark. She wasn't a sunny blonde, yet neither was Christine. I'm not ditzy and I don't have more fun, either. "I think Starfleet Medical has bigger worries."
"For now."
Dr. Gottesman joined them on their rounds. His thin, hawk-nosed face creased in a smile over Technician Robert's progress.
"Oh my God, proof he has teeth," Johnson whispered. "You're my witness. Davis owes me a beer."
Christine surreptitiously glanced around. The team had left for the shuttlebay and Bones was nowhere in sight. She experienced an unfamiliar, panicky feeling. What if the Romulans attacked and she never saw him again? She concentrated on her breathing and thought rationally. He must be in his office.
At the end of rounds, she said, "I'll go give the CMO the report" and marched off before Johnson could offer to do it for her. She found him standing arms-crossed, gazing at ship schematic on the wall.
He turned his head. "Is something wrong?" When she didn't answer, he moved toward her. "Tell me."
"If these are my last minutes, I don't want to spend them regretting I never acted on my feelings." Christine set the PADD down. "I know it's the wrong place and the wrong time." Exhilarated and scared to death, she closed the gap between them and rose up on tiptoe to slide her arms around his neck.
"Aw, hell," Bones said as her mouth sought his. He returned her kiss with a passion that made her open wider, cling tighter, and delve deeper.
"I don't know if the door locks," he said between kisses. "And where? The desk? The wall?" He groaned. "You deserve better."
She wanted to laugh, sigh and merge with him like a Tuvix plant all at the same time. Christine said, "I meant kissing you with everything I have, to let go of the past and hold nothing back."
Bones gave a wry sounding chuckle. "I took that literally."
"And I'd like that. Someday."
He stepped away and ran a hand over his hair. "Not in this office. That would be against regulations—like your socks."
Christine pulled up her trouser legs. "They're lucky."
Bone lifted an eyebrow. "They're teeming with rabbits."
"Only seven . . . on each side." She picked up the PADD. "Here's the latest patient data."
"I'll take your word that everything's under control."
"It's wonderful." She left before she blushed and embarrassed herself further.
.
Time went on, and patients began to complain. The Bio-bed wasn't comfortable enough; a pillow was needed, a real one, not the brick that passed for one in sickbay; one was thirsty and four others hungry. The displacement of fear and need for reassurance were the same motivations that drove staff to grumble to each other that the wait was killing them. They all wanted to do something.
The tension spiked when Bones charged out of his office. "Chapel. Williams. Follow me."
Christine grabbed her tricorder and sprinted to keep up as Bones ran for the turbolift.
"Our assistance is required in the transporter room," he said over his shoulder.
In the lift, Williams asked, "Is the captain?"
"Both of 'em."
The doors opened, and again they jogged down a corridor, Bones in the lead. He rushed into the transporter room. "Jim!"
Christine took readings with her tricorder. Only one of the men in the room needed medical attention. Captain Pike.
Once Williams and Bones helped the injured captain to the lift, she gave the Bones the tricorder, not wanting to upset the captain by mentioning the extent of his nerve damage. She wasn't a doctor. Maybe it wasn't permanent.
Pike smiled at her. "I hope those aren't tears of sadness. I'm glad to be alive. There are no regrets."
Christine wiped her face. "I'm happy you're back with us, Captain." She looked at McCoy.
And I have no regrets.
.
A/N: Dem bones, dem bones gonna walk aroun' . . . I got a lot of inspiration from music this chapter, starting with a not-just-for-kiddies song and moving on to Nickleback's If Today Was Your Last Day, which gets a lot of airplay on my local stations. As I kept hearing it, I thought of Christine. In this story, "today" could have been her last day and tomorrow would be too late to show Bones how she feels. I couldn't resist having her "say goodbye to yesterday" and "find the one (she's) dreamin' of." :) The nurse slogans I got from the humor page of realnurse dot net, which also had Doctors Save Patients, Nurses Save Doctors, and my favorite bumper sticker, Nurses Are Here To Save Your Ass, Not Kiss It.
The Engineering room image was a joke about the film set...which I read actually was a brewery. The Louis Pasteur line came from Memory Alpha.
I'm grateful to the readers who have encouraged me and not minded (too much) the wait between chapters. There's one more left, and while the characters' feet will be on terra firma, as the song says, "it's never too late to shoot for the stars."
As always, reviews will be appreciated and guaranteed to send this writer over the moon. ;)